


Holding On

by iamfitzwilliamdarcy



Series: Next to Normal [2]
Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Background Attempted Suicide, Gen, Mental Health Issues, N2N AU, Next to Normal - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-10
Updated: 2014-08-10
Packaged: 2018-02-12 15:08:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2114517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamfitzwilliamdarcy/pseuds/iamfitzwilliamdarcy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bruce has never been good at coping. Dick has just been trying to hold them all together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Holding On

“Don’t you want to patrol with me again?” Jason wheedled, sitting cross-legged on the floor of his room. “Why are you in here anyway? This is an invasion of privacy.”

“I’m just—,” Bruce waved his hand around.

“Cleaning out my room,” Jason quoted, getting to his feet. “ _Moving on_. I heard you talking with Dick and Alfred. What kind of bullshit is that? Come on, patrol with me. The Dynamic Duo, at it again. Don’t you miss it? Why do you keep trying to leave me behind? It’s not fair.” 

“You’re twenty,” Bruce reminded him, “not five. And we can’t,” he added, nose wrinkling into a frown. There was a reason they couldn’t, but he couldn’t think of it. Why couldn’t they, when he’d give anything to patrol with Jason again?

“I know where we can go,” Jason said, eyes perking up. The whine left his voice in favor of a more gentle tone. “Come on, old man, come with me.” 

********* 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Tim’s furious voice interrupted the quiet of the hospital waiting room where Dick sat in solitude as he burst through the automatic doors, a blast of warm air coming in with him. 

“I—,” Dick started, running a hand through his hair. But he doesn’t have an reason beyond he just didn’t think about it, which was awful, as far as excuses went. “I’m sorry,” he offered instead. It was lame, but he didn’t have much else to give.

“I came home and you guys weren’t there,” Tim said. “I mean, like, it’s a pretty big place, you know, and sometimes no one is there, but it was wrong because you left the front door open. And then I was in my room just _waiting_ for everyone to come home and I heard crying and Alfred, our Alfred, is standing in B’s room fucking  _crying_. Have you seen Alfred cry before? And then he had to tell me and—,”

Dick grabbed his wrist, halting his pacing. “I really am sorry, Tim,” he said. Tim nodded, but didn’t meet his gaze.

“How is Alfred?” Dick asked. He hadn’t been able to check back in at the Manor, and it’d been hours since he’d come here.

Tim shrugged. “I guess as good as he can be right now. He wasn’t crying anymore when I left, at least.”

 “So much for British stoicism, huh?” Dick said. It was bad, but Tim still managed a weak smile for him.

 “I think he’s a bit justified,” Tim said, sitting down in the red plastic chair next to Dick. “How is—?” he gestured in the general direction of the hospital beyond the waiting room. 

Dick slumped. “I’m not sure. He’s going to live and physically should be fine but,” he broke off with a sigh. He felt far older than 25. “I just don’t get it. I thought he was doing better, with the new doctor. He was going to let go, move on.”

“Yeah, well, Bruce’s never really been good at coping,” Tim pointed out. “Or, you know, letting things go.” 

“You’re telling me,” Dick said, letting his head fall back against the wall with a thunk.  

*********

Tim stayed with Dick for the next hour as they awaited news, because that was Tim. He hadn’t been there the last time Dick had sat in a hospital, waiting for news about Bruce. That had been the first time Bruce had attempted suicide, and the last up until then. Of course, Dick had never known for sure if Bruce had done it on purpose or if he, as Batman, had just gotten so reckless that he no longer cared if he lived or died. Or it could have been an accident, like Bruce said, though Dick somehow doubted that Batman had been shoved so hard off a building he couldn’t shoot a grapple to swing himself to safety and instead landed in the middle of traffic. 

It had been what convinced Dick to move back to the Manor. He had been checking in more frequently than before that, after Jason’s death, but he had also been too busy blaming Bruce for that to really notice how badly off he was or listen to Alfred’s requests to come by more frequently.   

Getting Bruce home then had been a nightmare too. They’d come up with some cover story, but the media had still swarmed the Manor for days after Bruce was released from the hospital. Rumors were flying about his psychological state and mental health and the death of his adopted son. Dick had picked up the Batman mantle in the following weeks, at Bruce’s request. He hadn’t asked for much in those days, and Dick couldn’t really deny that they wanted to avoid suspicion as best as possible.

That was when Tim had confronted him, two weeks into his new role as Batman. Tim, thin and gangly, had shown up at some secluded part of the Manor, camera in hand, and had cornered Dick. Dick, sure he was some punk wanna-be paparazzi and stressed to his breaking point, hand slammed him against the wall.

“Look, kid, I don’t have time for this shit. Take your camera home and go mind your own business. You don’t wanna be like these vultures.” 

“I’m not a kid,” Tim had insisted. “And I’m not one of them. I wanted to talk to you.”

Dick had let him go at that, but had turned to walk away. “I don’t want—,”

“I know you’re Nightwing,” Tim had called after him. “And I know that Bruce is Batman; or well, he  _was_ until whatever happened because you’ve been out now.”

“How do you—?”

“You’re smaller than he is,” Tim had shrugged.

 Dick had brought him into the Manor after that and asked Alfred to keep Bruce away. They’d talked them, and Tim had confessed how he’d figured out Dick was Robin and that he’d been following them and taking pictures for a while. He’d ended the whole thing with, “Batman needs a Robin, and you know it.” 

“I’m not taking on a Robin.” 

“But you won’t be Batman forever, just until he gets back.” Tim’s confidence had caused Dick to raise his eyebrows. “You know that. Just like you know Batman needs a Robin. Next to Robin being a symbol and all, Batman’s been reckless and violent since, well, and he needs a Robin.”

He’d been so earnest, Dick remembered fondly, and so  _smart_. “We’ll see, kid,” Dick had said.

 Dick had brought it up to Alfred, who seemed to think it wasn’t a bad idea. It had been a while before Dick and Alfred deemed Bruce ready to patrol again, a time full of physical recovery and appointments with psychiatrists (and fights over who they could see and how much of a threat that would be to their identities; Bruce never had much confidence in doctor-patient confidentiality, but he’d never been a very open person either), and it took much more convincing for Bruce to finally relent and allow Tim to join him.

It had taken months of training before Bruce even allowed Tim to pick up the Robin mantle, but the training was intense and Bruce far harsher than Dick had ever known him to be. Still, Dick though, Bruce had seemed better. Not quite happy, but better. Tim hadn’t filled the hole Jason had left behind, but hearts had a way of expanding and making room for new people.

And then Tim’s dad had died, and Bruce, in one of his better times, had officially adopted him. Dick still wasn’t sure what his motivation had been, but Tim had needed them, and he was glad Bruce was there, at least for that moment. Bruce kind of sucked at being there for anyone, but Dick thought Tim had been doing pretty alright, all things considered.

Except he didn’t look so great right now. To be fair, Dick was sure he himself wasn’t looking too peachy, so he filed Tim’s tired eyes and fidgeting to worry about Bruce and maybe even school, and left it at that. He’d remember to ask Tim how he was doing later, when things weren’t so screwed up and he had the capacity to focus on something other than just holding on to keep them all together.

*********

Dick sent Tim home when 2AM had come and gone, but still he stayed. They had had good news from the doctor about an hour before that Bruce was resting comfortably and expected to make a full recovery. He could be discharged either tomorrow or the next day, and they’d meet with the psychiatrist to talk about new treatments.

The doctor at the hospital suggested Dick go home as well, but he insisted on seeing Bruce instead.

“He’s asleep,” he said, “and he probably won’t wake up for you. He _shouldn’t_ wake up for you, as a matter of fact. Don’t excite him.”

“I won’t,” Dick promised. Talking about their feelings had never really been their style anyway. “I just want to see him.”

The doctor led him to Bruce’s room, and then left them alone. Bruce was asleep, looking pale and far smaller than Batman ever should. But he wasn’t Batman right now, just Bruce. Dick sometimes worried he didn’t know how to be Bruce without Batman. But that was a thought for another time.

“Hey, B,” he said softly, taking Bruce’s hand in his own. He pressed his lips to Bruce’s forehead, and continued, “Don’t worry about all this, okay? Just a minor setback. We’ll get through it. It’s gonna be alright; it’s gonna be good.”

But Dick could feel someone else there, an overwhelming presence, and despair trickled into his heart. This was never going away.  _He_ was never going away.  


End file.
